


Acta non verba

by firebrands



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, First Kiss, Getting Together, Halloween, Halloween Costumes, Idiots in Love, M/M, Mutual Pining, Tutoring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-04
Updated: 2019-08-04
Packaged: 2020-07-30 23:40:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20105530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firebrands/pseuds/firebrands
Summary: unapologetic fluff about two idiots who can barely keep it together with how hard they're crushing on each otheror:tony has to help steve with math + a halloween party = a good time for everyone, eventually





	Acta non verba

**Author's Note:**

> this is a fill for my stony bingo card with the prompt "gladiator."
> 
> thank you to [duckmoles](https://archiveofourown.org/users/duckmoles/pseuds/duckmoles) for the beta! you truly make my work better. thanks as well to patrali who read through as well! :)

There are few things in academia that Tony actively dislikes, and being called to his lab advisor’s office after class is definitely one of them. 

Tony fidgets as he stands in front of his professor’s large oak table.

“You can sit,” Dr. Pym says, motioning to the couch across his table. Tony doesn’t move, hoping that by standing up, they can keep this discussion short.

“After the explosion last week—” his professor starts, and Tony immediately opens his mouth to defend himself. Unfortunately, Pym has spent a sufficient amount of time with Tony, and raises a finger to silence him before Tony can make a sound. “—we believe that the best way you can give back to the school is to serve your mandatory hours tutoring,” he finishes.

A moment passes. 

“I would rather _ die_,” Tony says emphatically.

“Spare me the theatrics, Tony,” Pym says, sighing. “Just two hours, twice a week. We have some engineering, math, and physics students who’ll do this as well, so you’ll only have one tutee.”

“From where?” Tony grinds out. “Can’t I just… make a program to teach math…?” he asks hopefully.

“While that would be fantastically helpful, I don’t want you spending more time on something that can be solved by just showing up,” Pym says primly. He pushes a piece of paper across his desk. “We’re having the orientation tomorrow morning.”

Tony wants to throw a tantrum, because _ morning? Tutoring? Tutoring in the morning? _But he also knows that battles with Pym rarely ever end in his favor, so he doesn’t. 

Instead, he finds satisfaction in slamming Pym’s door as he leaves.

*

Tony, after two years in university, has come to realize that a lot of it is about weighing costs. This is what he tells himself as he takes two steps at a time to get to the assigned room Pym had given him. _ It’ll be even more annoying if I don’t do this_, Tony reassures himself, as he pulls open the door.

“Nice of you to join us,” says Pym coolly. He motions to an empty chair, and Tony sags into it, breathless from his mad dash from his dorm room to the classroom. Tony doesn’t have time to survey the rest, instead focuses on blinking away the spots in his vision. _ Too early to be this tired _, he thinks.

Pym talks about the importance the school gives on providing support for all students, or something, Tony isn’t really paying attention, even if his condition has stabilized.

“Since you’re all from different colleges, we’ve partnered you up.” A table flashes on screen with their names. “Let’s go around the room introducing ourselves.”

Tony rolls his eyes and plays videogames on his phone as people introduce themselves. Eventually, he’s called to stand. “Tony,” he says, then sits back down.

Eventually, people stand to introduce themselves; again, Tony isn’t really paying attention, until someone hovers beside him awkwardly.

“Hi,” says the hoverer.

Tony sighs, and looks up, meaning to say “hi,” in the least friendly way possible just because it’s 9AM and no one should ever be friendly in the morning.

He meant to say that.

Now he’s just staring at the beautiful, blonde, buff guy standing beside him. His shirt is a size too small, and Tony wants to write a check to whoever told him that it was the right fit. _ Good lord_, Tony thinks. And then the rational part of his brain, small as it is, finally catches up with him.

“Hey,” Tony says, doing his best to sound suave.

“I’m Steve,” he says, offering a hand. Tony shakes it. A good grip. A good _ hand_. _ Oh, god. _ His thoughts on Steve’s hand stutter to a halt when Steve tells him what he’s taking.

“An art student?” Tony scoffs. 

Said art student raises an eyebrow in response.

“Why are you even taking a math class?” 

“It’s part of the curriculum?” Steve’s brows knit together and that’s when Tony realizes: _ hey, he’s even cuter when he’s annoyed. _

“Okay well I’m only ever free Tuesday and Thursday evening,” Tony says. 

Steve bites his lip and looks irritated. “Fine. I can move stuff around. You better be fucking great at math,” he huffs.

“Oh darling, I’m fucking great at a lot more than math,” Tony smirks.

Steve, god bless him, blushes.

*

Steve’s late for their first session. They’d chosen the study hall for their lessons; it was situated right at the midway point between their two colleges, and it was usually only filled up by quiet freshmen (the library, on the other hand, was filled with over caffeinated seniors, which didn’t sound very productive to be around).

Tony’s scribbling calculations about the battery he’d been trying to figure out when Steve comes rushing in. “Sorry I’m late, but I got you coffee to make it up to you,” Steve says, and Tony hides a smile by taking a sip of coffee.

Steve’s wearing a dark blue henley that brings out the color in his eyes and Tony thinks that he should probably inform Dr. Pym that he is no longer qualified to tutor as he’s going to lose his damn mind.

When Steve starts solving the problems on the worksheet Tony prepared, Tony sends Rhodey a message: _ Oh no. hes stupid cute. _

Rhodey immediately responds: _ ur so dumb istg _

Steve touches Tony’s arm to get his attention. “Okay, I don’t understand how you got from this,” he motions to his calculations, “to this,” he finishes, pointing at the equation Tony had written out.

Tony stares at the problem equation, then casts a glance at Steve’s hand on his arm. He wants Steve’s hand everywhere, he thinks, with a hint of mania. 

Steve follows Tony’s gaze and snatches his hand away. Tony tries not to weep at the loss, and instead writes out step by step how he got to the solution.

After an hour, Tony stands up to get another cup of coffee, and he’s so distracted by the weight of Steve’s hand on his arm that now he can’t remember where they were sitting. Tony peers around and spots Steve resting his face on his palm, seemingly lost in thought.

Tony stares, memorizing the slant of his nose, the soft curl of his lips.

And then he walks straight into the glass door.

Thankfully, the coffee is safe. Tony’s reputation, not so much: everyone had turned to look, and Steve covers up a laugh with his hand.

“Don’t laugh, do your worksheet,” Tony hisses, sitting back down beside Steve.

Steve continues to chuckle as he does his calculations.

Now it’s Tony’s turn to cover his mouth with his hand, horrified by how fond his smile is.

*

“Earth to Tony!”

Tony looks up from his laptop, where he was preparing a new worksheet for Steve. “What?”

Rhodey frowns. “I was asking what you wanted to get for lunch.”

“Whatever you’re getting, honeybear,” Tony responds absently, still tweaking equations as Rhodey huffs and walks away.

Tony’s reviewing the worksheet when Rhodey comes back with their meals and gently pushes down the monitor of Tony’s laptop to get his attention.

“Okay! Okay already!” Tony screeches, snatching his laptop away from Rhodey’s reach and saving the file before folding it shut. “Jeez,” he says.

“Didn’t think you’d have it this bad,” Rhodey smirks, digging into his mashed potatoes.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Tony sniffs, removing the plates of food from his tray and arranging them on the table. “It’s—it’s not that big of a deal,” he says. “Totally harmless, he’ll be out of my hair in a few months.”

“You guys are a walking thinkpiece about the need to bridge the gap between STEM and humanities,” Rhodey says, rolling his eyes.

*

Tony spends more and more time with Steve, eventually meeting his friends (and vice versa). It’s nice, mostly because having more friends means more people forcing him out of the lab and forcing him to live a life, which—it’s nice.

None of these things matter, of course, at 3 in the afternoon on a Saturday, where Tony is sitting on the floor of Rhodey’s dorm room with his head in his hands.

Thor pats Tony’s head consolingly. “You could try and talk to him?”

“He doesn’t like me that way, okay?” Tony’s voice is small, muffled by his position.

Rhodey groans. “Everyone can see it,” he says.

“That he _ doesn’t like me?_” Tony asks despairingly.

“No, that he does like you,” Thor says, rubbing Tony’s back. “Like, everyone. Both sides.” 

Tony curls even deeper into himself. “Yeah, but you’re all idiots,” he mewls.

* * *

The October air is crisp with the onset of autumn, and Steve lets out an exasperated puff of breath as he pulls up the blanket draped over his shoulder. Sam raises an eyebrow in response.

Behind them, Bucky slams the door to their apartment shut with a triumphant woop, and begins hustling Steve and Sam down the street: “Let’s _ go! _”

Steve’s toes are cold in the night air, and he has never hated Halloween more in his life. Yes, even more than that one time his mom and Bucky’s mom had plotted against him and dressed the two of them up as Woody and Buzz, forcing them to go around the neighborhood much to ten year old Steve’s chagrin.

“I hate costumes _ so much _,” Steve whines, and it’s likely the fifth time he’s said it this evening alone, but it bears repeating. Sam and Bucky roll their eyes in tandem. 

*

Thor’s house is noisy and cramped and Steve bites down hard on any more complaints, instead making a beeline for the kitchen. Sam and Bucky follow after him, carrying a bottle of tequila and vodka each. 

Of course, the kitchen isn’t any better—in fact, it’s worse. Still, Steve needs a drink, or fifty, to make this night somewhat bearable. The things he did for his friends, _ really_.

Thor is in the kitchen, dressed as a pirate (wide brimmed hat and eyepatch included). He’s talking to a guy dressed up as a gladiator, wearing a gold chestplate on top of red robes, and as they approach, Steve realizes who it is.

“Tony!” Bucky grins, draping an arm around the shorter man and pressing a kiss to his cheek. Tony smiles up at him and the disentangles himself to give Sam a quick hug. “Elvis and… hot professor?” Tony asks, turning from Bucky to Sam, respectively. 

Sam is clearly taken aback, but before he can correct Tony, Bucky says, “and obviously you went above and beyond with the costume _ again_.”

Tony preens, and Steve has to wrench his eyes away from the way muscles in Tony’s arms flex as he wipes nonexistent dust off his chest plate. “What can I say? Not all of us can come in wearing a blanket and look as good as him,” he says as he nods at Steve, who's wearing a toga and a crown made of fake golden laurel leaves. 

“Ugh,” Steve says, eloquent as ever.

Tony takes this as an opportunity to keep teasing. 

“Oh boys,” Tony says as he’s approaching Steve, “did you oil him up?” He traces a finger down Steve’s bicep.

Steve flinches away. 

Sam laughs. “That’s just his sweat,” he says. 

Now it’s Tony’s turn to laugh and Steve fights down a blush as he begins looking around for something to drink. 

*

So the party’s pretty fun, and it was a blessing in disguise that Steve was barely wearing anything. It’s so crowded in the house, and everyone is sweating. 

Steve bends down to pull out a beer from one of the coolers stationed strategically around the house and when he straightens back up, Tony’s standing right in front of him. Steve, momentarily disoriented by how stupidly hot Tony is, hands him his bottle of beer.

Tony, the unflappable flirt, winks at Steve.

Steve’s however many drinks in, so it’s not his fault that he’s flustered. It’s _awful_, how flustered he is. 

Tony laughs, and blows him a kiss as he’s walking away.

Steve turns to the cooler and briefly considers just dunking his head into the ice water.

*

Natasha passes Steve the joint, angling her head away from him as she blows out a cloud of smoke. 

She juts her chin forward, motioning at the general area where Tony is currently talking to Bucky. Tony looks regal, which is crazy considering he’s wearing sandals, to match the rest of his costume. Still, Steve lets his eyes wander over the expanse of exposed flesh. Tony’s legs, Tony’s arms—Steve swallows as he checks out Tony’s ass.

“You two should take a picture. It’s cute,” she says, jolting Steve out of his thoughts. Natasha smirks, fully aware of what Steve was doing.

Steve does not deign to respond, and scowls at her as he takes a hit.

“Why are you so huffy?” Natasha asks, rolling her eyes.

“It’s just like,” Steve says, passing her the joint, “you know! He’s just fucking with me.”

Natasha’s face crumples with disbelief. “You are so dumb.”

*

Steve is leaning back on the couch, watching the strobe lights make patterns on the ceiling. He’s having fun, even if he’s just seated with his legs sprawled out in front of him. This is what a good time is like, for Steve: a little tipsy, a little stoned, and very comfortable. He’s not really into parties, much less costume parties, but Sam and Bucky had forced him to come. But they all shared in the knowledge that Steve only agreed because he knew Tony would probably be at Thor’s party, too.

After a while, Steve gets bored of the lights and he toys idly with the label of his beer bottle, and startles out of his concentration when Tony flops down beside him.

“Hey,” he says. “You good?”

“Yeah.” Steve smiles slowly and nods at him. 

Tony leans against Steve’s bare arm and Steve has never felt so happy to be in costume in his life, he thinks serenely. He hazards resting his hand on Tony’s leg, reassuring himself that if Tony said anything, Steve would just laugh it off and say he was drunk and high (which is sort of true). 

Thankfully, Tony doesn’t say anything. Instead, he spreads his legs a bit wider, pressing his thigh against Steve’s. 

Steve lets out a shaky breath. 

Tony turns to look up at him, his chin resting on Steve’s shoulder. Their eyes meet, and they stare at each other for a moment; Steve can feel Tony’s shallow breaths, can smell the alcohol on him, along with a hint of tobacco. _ Where would Tony have a pocket to keep cigarettes? _Steve thinks, as he continues to chart the plains and valleys of Tony’s face, from the thick lines of his eyebrows to the soft swell of his lips. Steve bites his lip, and he sees that Tony’s eyes flick down at the movement.

Tony looks up at him again, and he offers Steve a small, apologetic smile.

“I want to kiss you,” he whispers.

Steve smiles and leans forward, finally locking their lips together. 

**Author's Note:**

> i'm on [tumblr](https://firebrands.tumblr.com/) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/firebrandss)!


End file.
